


Not Beyond Saving

by Bookwrm389



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Parental Damas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwrm389/pseuds/Bookwrm389
Summary: Jak has decided to return and protect Haven City. Before he does, he must explain to Damas why the city that banished him takes precedence over the city that saved him.





	Not Beyond Saving

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net

By the time Jak entered the stone spire at the heart of Spargus, he knew he was committed. He used the time while the lift ascended to take a deep breath and compose himself. Arguments and counterarguments, excuses and justifications rolled over and over in his mind, each one hardly given any consideration before it was rejected. No matter what Jak said or how carefully he rehearsed it, this conversation would not go well. And the worst part was that he had no clue how Damas would react, whether he would dismiss Jak's entreaty outright or just shoot him where he stood.

The lift clattered to a halt and Jak stepped onto the worn stone path, surrounded by the soothing trickle of the many pools gracing the throne room. Most leaders decked out their audience chambers with wealth or the trophies of fallen enemies, but here in the Wasteland where water was more precious than any other element, there was no better way for Damas to establish his sovereignty over those he commanded. Or, conversely, to demonstrate his mercy. Jak vividly remembered soaking his aching feet in that water and mentally vowing to worship whoever had rescued him.

His lips quirked wryly. Now he knew better. That simple act of giving water to a dying man had tied him to Spargus out of debt and grudging gratitude, like a wild dog finally brought to heel. Except...that analogy wasn't entirely accurate. Maybe he'd had to jump through hoops at first, but with each day, Jak found he depended on Spargus and its king  _less_ , not more. He knew now he could survive a week in the deep desert without supplies if he had to because he had  _done_ it on occasion. He knew of the hidden oases the Wastelanders used, he knew where the marauders patrolled and the metalheads nested. He was even getting a feel for the erratic sandstorms.

All of that, including his two war amulets, had been achieved through his own skill. His debt had been repaid many times over, and he had made no promises beyond that. Not to Damas, not to anyone in this desert. He should  _want_ to walk away. He should have been out the door weeks ago.

"Jak? This is a surprise. What brings you here?"

Jak turned away from the empty dais and throne toward the great windows where Damas stood with his hands folded behind his back. The king didn't look at all displeased at having his contemplation of the city interrupted, instead tilting his head in silent invitation. Jak stepped carefully around the pools and joined him at the window ledge, taking a moment to absorb the sight.

It wasn't impressive, by any means. Spargus was small enough to drown in the Port sector in Haven, but damned if it wasn't the most inspiring thing Jak had seen in years. Here were people who had been labeled as outcasts—irredeemable and deserving of their fate—and instead of dying, they had told the rest of the world to take a hike. Haven wouldn't let them have a home? They built their own. Metalheads wanted to eat them? They mowed them down and used their hides for clothes and their claws for weapons. Marauders tried to steal from them? They mowed those down too and fed what was left to the metalheads. The world could go to hell on a platter, and Spargus would still be standing.

And it was coming dangerously close to that now. Jak made himself turn his back on the city and leaned against the wall with arms crossed broodingly. He could sense Damas watching him, perhaps seeing something of his discord and choosing not to press him. "Where's that rat of yours? He normally never misses an opportunity to avail himself of my personal oasis."

Jak smirked, but even that was halfhearted. "Daxter went off somewhere. He's...not exactly speaking to me right now."

 _Now_ Damas was paying attention, eyes narrowed at his newest warrior. Jak licked his lips nervously and forced himself to say the words before he lost his nerve. Before what he'd said to Ashelin got the chance to take hold in his heart.

"I have to go back to Haven City."

The silence in the chamber was absolute. Even the merrily trickling of the water seemed muted. Abruptly, Damas left the window and paced back toward the dais stiffly. "Why?" he said, a wealth of emotion layered behind that one simple word. Anger, confusion, and a kind of blindsided betrayal that made Jak feel two feet tall and utterly worthless.

Jak uncrossed his arms, one hand ghosting over the pocket that held his seal of Mar.  _No matter what he says, I'm still going back,_  he reminded himself.  _I'm not a child, I don't need his damn approval._

"They need me," Jak said, keeping it as straightforward as possible. "They needed me before I even left the city. Between the metalhead and KG forces, they were barely surviving, and it's only gotten worse since I left—"

"How do you know it's gotten worse?" Damas said sharply with a cutting glance.

Jak hesitated, considered avoiding the question, but Damas would probably see right through it. "I've been in contact with someone from the city," he admitted. "The same person who gave me the beacon."

Damas' fiery glare could have made a metalhead tuck tail and flee. "For that alone, I should shoot you down," he said coldly. "We Wastelanders have survived thus far  _precisely_  because those in Haven think we're nothing more than a few roaming tribes. If they knew an entire  _nation_ thrived out here, they would not hesitate to swoop in and crush us like so many ants. No self-respecting warrior of mine would risk that!"

"Then it's a good thing I'm  _not_  one of your warriors, isn't it?" Jak snapped acidly, ignoring the way his gut twisted and the sudden tautness in Damas' shoulders. "At least not until I hop into that arena again and earn my third amulet like a good little gladiator."

"And yet you have no problem rushing off to play good little soldier for those Havenites?" Damas retorted in disgust. "You would protect the people that  _abandoned_  you, dumped you on your ass and left you to die a pitiful death? I honestly thought you had more pride than that!"

 _That_  went too far. Jak stomped up to the king and got right in his face, halfway to yelling his words. "This has nothing to do with my pride, Damas! There are plenty of innocent people in Haven who  _didn't_ make the choice to banish their best fighter.  _They_ are the ones I care about protecting!"

"And what of  _this_ city, Jak?" Damas demanded, hands clenched into fists as if he was barely resisting the urge to strike him. "We, who sheltered you and gave you new life and purpose against all odds! Is there  _nothing_ and  _no one_ here worthy of your protection?"

 _You,_  Jak thought unbidden and hastily turned away in case the truth showed in his eyes. But Damas had seen it anyway and actually took a step back, surprised and a little uncertain before he, too, shuttered his expression. Jak watched Damas approach his throne and lay his palm on one of the armrests, still not quite looking at him. "You don't owe them anything, Jak. You did your part, you fought and bled for them during the metalhead invasion, and your ultimate reward was a death sentence. As far as I'm concerned, they chose their fate."

"A few months ago, I would have agreed with you," Jak said quietly, dropping his gaze to his callused palms. "Everything bad that's  _ever_  happened to me has been because of that damn city. After they sent me out here, I hated them so much I would have gladly watched them all die a slow death...even the ones I cared about the most."

"So what happened to all that hate?" Damas asked him, and he sounded honestly curious.

Jak snorted. "It grew a brain and realized it was being ignorant. It wasn't the  _city_  that banished me, it was that bastard Veger and his puppets. I won't make the rest of the citizens suffer for his arrogance. They have so little control over their lives...probably even less than when Praxis was in power. Even my friends were powerless because helping me would have gotten them banished too. In the end, they chose the city over me, and now I know that was the right decision."

Damas sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, finally sinking into the stone embrace of his throne. "You're not making this easy, Jak," he admitted. "Most who come to Spargus are glad to bid wherever they came from good riddance, and even those who  _wanted_ to return understood that they could not. And the few who slipped away on their own...well, those that didn't come crawling back to our gates begging for mercy never made it very far."

Jak put one foot on the first step, but didn't quite dare to come any closer. Damas' weapon was only inches from his hand, leaning against the throne. "You won't change my mind about this. I'm not putting one city above the other, it's just a matter of priorities. Spargus is a city of warriors, and Haven...isn't. Whether they want me back or not, I know I won't forgive myself if I don't do something."

Damas shook his head cynically. "There was a time when I would have said the same, when I wouldn't have hesitated to take up arms for the defenseless, the weak. Maybe I  _am_  just a bitter old man, and it takes being lectured by someone like you for me to see it..."

He trailed off, looking into the distance pensively while Jak waited for the axe to drop. Deep in his heart, he knew he was sentencing himself to a second banishment, only this time from Spargus. After such disloyalty, Damas had no reason to let him set foot here again, and Jak had a feeling the Wastelanders wouldn't hesitate to enforce the king's decree. And they were much better shots than the Krimzon Guards.

Damas leaned forward and interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them. "You're certain of your decision?"

"I am," Jak said, throat tight when the king closed his eyes and nodded.

"Then go. But make your way to the mountain temple first. Seem and her monks long ago discovered some passages that may lead to the city. It will be much safer and quicker than attempting to go over land."

"Thank you," Jak whispered. Numbly, he withdrew the two war amulets from his pocket and laid them on the top step of the dais. He spun on his heel and headed for the lift, already hindered by sharp pangs of loss for what he was about to leave behind. The one place where he wasn't asked to be the hero and whip up a miracle every other day or sneered at as a freak and a monster. Where he was just one warrior of many, doing his part for the city and no more. In short, the closest thing to home he would ever find in this broken, screwed up world.

Damas stopped him before he'd gone five steps. "When did I say you could leave those behind, warrior of Spargus?"

Jak halted as the words penetrated, throwing a stunned look over his shoulder. "But I thought—"

"Thought what?" Damas said, lips quirking in amusement. He stood and retrieved both Jak's amulets and his staff weapon. "You really thought I would let you go that easily? I see no reason why Haven should have you all to herself. That is, if you think you can handle the burden of  _two_  cities on your shoulders?"

The king held out the amulets. Jak reached for them with some trepidation. "Are you saying I can come back? Without getting shot?"

"You can consider yourself one of my agents in Haven City, if that helps," Damas told him. "On occasion, I've found such things useful. Mind though, I only choose agents that I know I can trust, and Mar help me, but I  _do_ trust you, Jak. If there's one thing you've proven to me, it's that you don't abandon your comrades."

The unfaltering truth of that statement left Jak reeling. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had said that to him. It was always  _we need you_  or  _we're counting on you_  or  _we can't fight without you_. But never  _we trust you_. A bold grin lit up Jak's face that he couldn't have suppressed if he tried. "Then I'll come back," he promised. "As soon as I can."

"I'll await your return once you've had your fill of heroism," Damas said with a rare smile of his own. "Spargus was surviving long before you arrived, and we will continue to do so. Oh, and one more thing..."

"Let me guess," Jak said wryly as he took back the amulets. "If I betray your trust, you'll hunt me down and kill me?"

Damas gave a harsh laugh, but his eyes danced with humor. "Oh, you'll only  _wish_ you got off so lightly, youngling," he said roguishly. "Now get out of here! Find that orange rat and give him a reason to speak to you again."

Jak grinned widely at the thought of Daxter's reaction to this, he who had spent the past four months moping and pining for the polluted metropolis and its overabundance of bars, women and alcohol. Jak's friend was, undoubtedly, a city ottsel.

"Jak," Damas said quietly, and again Jak hesitated halfway between throne and lift. Damas directed his gaze toward the windows, and for a moment he reminded Jak of the grimy statue of Mar long since lost in Haven's sewers. Distant and stern, but filled with conviction and the spirit of a warrior, and the spell was not broken even when Damas locked eyes with him again.

"When you face your accusers, when you look them in the eye and see their hatred and disgust, I want you to remember one thing. Those scumbags dropped you into the desert intending for you to die...and you  _survived_. You not only lived, you  _thrived_ , and with every beat of your heart, you spit that fact in their face. No matter what anyone says or thinks, remember that you  _are_ a Wastelander! You are a law unto yourself with no authority transcending you, save mine, and you will  _never_ be inferior to them again."

Jak swallowed, tried to speak and found that he couldn't. An indescribable, cleansing warmth surged through his chest, filling him head to toe like he'd stepped into a light eco vent. His shoulders straightened, relieved of a burden he hadn't even realized he was carrying. Until now, Jak hadn't realized just how badly their words—Veger, Praxis, and Erol, even Ashelin and Keira—had poisoned him, festering in his heart and soul until they were all he could hear.

But now, oh  _now_...he was  _not_ worthless, he was  _not_ corrupted or beyond saving. Most importantly, he was  _not_ defeated, not even close. Not if someone like Damas could look at him and decide he deserved a chance to redeem himself.

Ah, yet another concept Spargus had that the rest of the world desperately lacked. And, Jak suspected, the very thing that had driven this band of outcasts to take a stand and rebuild their lives here in the wastes.

Redemption.

Refusing to let something so simple as a lack of words stop him, Jak faced the throne fully. His salute was entirely spontaneous and nothing fancy, just a light tapping of his fist to his chest like he had seen the Wastelanders exchange among their own. But as with most things in Spargus, those rare displays of respect and fellowship weren't based on any sort of rank or honor, they were  _earned_. He could tell Damas was taken aback by the gesture and the allegiance it implied, and the king's eyes softened. Damas inclined his head gravely, acknowledging his loyalty, accepting it and thanking him for it all in one. With one last flick of his hand, Jak stepped onto the lift and let it bear him back down to the streets of Spargus. Once there, he took off at a sprint.

He had another city to save. One that was hopefully not beyond saving.


End file.
